Page 48 of Rhythm Of Redemption

A momentary look of fear flickered across her face as she scanned the crowd of equally attractive young women, all waiting to take her place. “No,” she resignedly slumped down beside him. “It won't be any fun without you.”

She reached for the bottle, pouring herself another glass almost to the brim, and offered to refill his, which he declined. Placing it back in the ice bucket, she seemed to have an insatiable thirst for the champagne.

Two glasses later, she danced provocatively in front of him, behaving like his own private lap dancer. He averted his gaze, feeling embarrassed as her dress rode up her thighs. It struck him that she was someone's daughter. She threw her arms in the air, swaying her hips from side to side. He noticed the appreciative looks of a couple of men who made suggestive gestures in his direction. But now, all he saw was a young girl with too much makeup on, a dress too short, too tight, and not enough of it. “How old are you?” the words escaped his lips before he realised it.

“Old enough,” she defiantly tilted her chin.

But old enough for what? Old enough to be in his club? Old enough to be drinking champagne with a man who could easily be her father? “Do you have any ID?” he enquired.

“I'm twenty,” she replied, casting a sidelong glance that betrayed her lie.

“Really?” he raised a questioning eyebrow. “Can I see it?”

Confusion clouded her face. “What?”

“Your ID. Can I see it?”

She grabbed her bag from the seat and emptied its contents onto the table, quickly retrieving her driver's licence and thrusting it towards him. “Happy now?”

Taking it from her, he held it at arm's length to read the details. “Just checking,” he murmured.

“What were you checking?” she retorted, hastily gathering the scattered items from the table and forcing them back into her bag. “Checking if I'm old enough to screw? Funny how it didn't seem to bother you when you were trying to get into my knickers, did it?”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the stares from onlookers and the sudden appearance of her friends, appearing out of thin air to support her, stopped him in his tracks. “You're right. I'm sorry,” he admitted, rising from his seat.

“Where are you going?” she asked, a touch of confusion in her voice.

“I just remembered I have some paperwork I need to finish. Excuse me,” he replied, already making his way towards the exit.

Her friends swarmed around her, no doubt offering words of comfort and affirming that she deserved better. As he passed the bar, he instructed the staff to send over a couple of bottles of champagne with his compliments. Pulling open the door, he cast one last glance around the room. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Bianca and her friends had been joined by the guys who had given him approving gestures earlier. They would likely end up sharing more than just the free champagne before the night was over. And he genuinely wished them all the best.

Closing the door behind him, he made his way up to his office. Once inside, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and adjusted the air conditioning before sinking into his chair. With a flick, he popped off the bottle cap and took a long pull. What was wrong with him? Wasn't this what he’d wanted? To reclaim his life? He took another swig, pondering his thoughts as he sifted through the papers scattered on his desk. There was a staff roster awaiting his approval, some documents requiring his signature, and a handful of invitations to various events.

It struck him as ironic how he had suddenly found himself back on everyone's guest list, despite being a pariah just a few weeks ago. Now that his bank account and reputation had been restored, people flocked to him with outstretched hands, seeking donations. Perhaps he would simply send a cheque; that's all they really wanted. He went through the invitations one by one, noting the extravagant stationery that likely cost more than most people's monthly wages. Then his eyes landed on something different. A plain white card adorned with quirky hand-drawn artwork—an invitation to a Cool Art Exhibition. It provided the date, time, and location of the pop-up gallery in a local café. At the bottom, a heartfelt message read: I know you're probably busy, but it would be so cool if you could come. Love, Dani xx.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he read the card again.

He’d been such an idiot.

Chapter twenty-three

Lou stood in the kitchen, absorbed in the rhythmic motion of drying each dish, as the sun began its unhurried descent, painting the room with a tender, muted glow. The gentle clinking of porcelain mingled with the memories that brushed against her consciousness, evoking a sense of nostalgia. Just a few weeks ago, she and Logan would join forces in this very task, finding solace in its simplicity, their laughter and hushed conversations enveloping them in a comforting cocoon. In those moments, their connection felt unburdened, shielded from the chaos of the outside world. The echoes of their shared secrets and the effortless companionship they’d once shared imprinted themselves upon Lou's heart, now serving as tender fragments of a past that had slipped through her fingers, forever elusive.

A flicker of movement in the window's reflection snatched her attention, yanking her from the tranquil cocoon of her thoughts. Panic surged through her veins, an electric jolt that sent her senses reeling. The plate slipped from her hands, crashing onto the floor, its shards scattering like fragments of her shattered peace. Her heart raced within her chest as she turned around, coming face to face with an unexpected presence in the doorway—Steve, her ex-husband.

“Steve,” she said cautiously, her apprehension clear.

He stepped forward, a brazen smile spreading across his face. “Surprise!”

Lou's eyes narrowed, her tone cool and guarded. “Er, yes, it is a surprise.”

Dani's hurried footsteps echoed through the kitchen; her concern palpable. “Mum is everything—” Dani's voice trailed off as she caught sight of her father standing there. “Dad!”

Steve's arms opened wide as Dani leapt into them. “Hey, baby,” he said, hugging her close. “I've missed you.”

Unable to suppress the twinge of bitterness welling up inside her, she swallowed it down, refusing to let it spoil this moment for her daughter. “I've missed you, too,” Dani replied, her voice filled with genuine affection.

Missed her, my arse, she thought bitterly. You've barely contacted her in the last six months. You couldn't even be bothered to call her or send a card on her birthday. Though she kept her frustrations to herself, a guarded expression settled upon her face.

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